


To Your Arms Someday

by NoHappyEnding, TremblingHandsWriting



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, NHE2017, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 04:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13756170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoHappyEnding/pseuds/NoHappyEnding, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TremblingHandsWriting/pseuds/TremblingHandsWriting
Summary: Yifan lives too long, and his heart is always on the run.





	To Your Arms Someday

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** 2017-154  
>  **Pairing/Main character(s):** Kris/Suho  
>  **Word count:** 21, 324  
>  **Rating:** R18  
>  **Warning(s):** Character death, suicide
> 
>  **Author's note:** This shit ain't finished. Also, edited.

  _I’ll remember you_  
 _Long after this endless summer has gone_  
 _I’ll be lonely oh so lonely_  
 _Living only to remember you_

_-_

_‘Just how much love can you gain in six moons’ cycles?’_

 

**1824.**

Yifan had thought about what a contradiction; such a cold curse spoken out by a warm voice. But he also thought about how he wanted to prove it wrong, so he said nothing about it. In his lap, a small, pale man was losing his breath, the twinkling of his eyes and the warmth of his body. Blood was pooling underneath his nape, drenching into Yifan’s embroider silk pants, changing its colour into something dark and black in the bright, bright moonlight.

The streets were empty, except for the apparitions that kept on watching them curiously. Hiding behind the walls of empty houses, the upturned carriage that had lost its horses; and the flickering streetlamps that will be turned off by the lamplighters just before sunrise, they were waiting for Yifan to leave, so that the young boy’s body would be free for a taste.

Looking at his face and feeling the trembles on his thin shoulders, Yifan was reminded of how he had met this dying young boy inside his arms. He remembered following his faint, yet lovely scent along the dirty streets of the poor in London in the evenings; secretly watching him sleep at nights underneath freezing bridges and people’s dirty pavements.

Yifan wanted to devour him, because that was what a beast like him would do after a stake-out of their victims. It was a long way from China, after all, and he was starving. A killing streak on a luxury ship within the months of travelling would put any captain on their toes, and the last thing Yifan would like to be done to him was being left out to sizzle in the sun. The worst part of it was not that he would be burn to crisps; it’s the part where he would not die because of it that made him cringe.

He’d rather starve and stay beautiful, instead of being full yet ugly as fuck; pardon his French.

So when he arrived in London, met the Queen and stroke a few business deals on the spices with the Europeans he met along the way (while trying hard not to snap their necks and drink from their fountain of blood), Yifan was ready to start a little hunt to quench his thirst. Rich people were never on his list. One reason was for their necks would likely be filled with excessive layers of fat, and the cholesterol that accumulated with the amount of human food they stuffed down their throats and calling it ‘the luxury of dining’. The other reason would be because of the hideous smells of their perfumes. Yifan thought they need to stop trusting too much in the capability of the French perfumers’ painted noses. After all, if you have been avoiding the bath for, let’s say, a year, you are ought to stink anyways.

So when he caught a faint whiff of a very sweet smell from a boy that worked the evening to light up the streets with oil lamps and long staff in his hands, Yifan thought his next meal would be prepped nicely. A meal in a foreign land should be delightful, and should be remembered for a long time.

But, there’s the thing about stalking out your prey for a little too long; especially when they’re, practically speaking, humans. Humans were born with charms, whether they realised it or not. And this teenage lamplighter with faint sweet smell and lovely, lovely laugh (this, Yifan found out by accident as he heard the boy playing a game of tag with his friends while putting out the street lights one morning) had a charm that filled Yifan’s heart with warmth, when in reality his stomach was the one that needed to be filled.

 _I hope you know that this was how it felt when you took my heart away from me,’_ the warm voice resounding inside his head, and Yifan took his time to finally reply it. His hands, now covered in sweet, sweet scent of the blood looked sickeningly red and dirty, and Yifan wondered when was it that he began liking the taste of it.

“I made a mistake by accepting your curse on me, didn’t I? Or is this another curse of yours too, Lu Han?” he whispered to no one in particular, knowing damn well that someone was listening with a fulfilled vengeance.

“A curse is a tiring task, and I won’t be wasting it twice on you. I gave you six months with every love you found, half of what you have given me. That’s the only curse I put on you,” a young man inside a black tuxedo and a top hat appeared from mere dusts that twirled next to Yifan. His deceivingly young face was hidden by the shadow casted from the dim light that fell on his top hat, and his silky, shoulder-length white hair was dancing in the night breeze.

“You thought you would never know love, so you accepted my punishment without worries. You fool; you brought this doom upon yourself.” He spat, hatred filled his eyes as he watched Yifan still holding on to the now lifeless young boy inside his arms.

“Move on, Yifan. Or we won’t be able to finally enjoy this game you started yourself.” He said again, when Yifan didn’t say anything.

“But he gave me a peony. And he told me his name. And he smiled at me.” Yifan told him, like a little kid trying to explain reasons why he would like to be friends with someone.

“Good. Now suffer.”

 And suffer Yifan did.

*

Yifan thinks he understands where Lu Han’s anger rooted from, and he knows why.

Lu Han had once fall in love with a mortal.

 

**1275.**

Obviously, if he thinks about it, Lu Han’s curse itself sounded so... romantic. _‘You took my heart away from me,’_ really. Given that Lu Han’s hobby during the time they were serving the Emperor of The Great Yuan as his security officials was poetry; Yifan should have seen that coming.

Only Yifan _didn’t_ think about it, because he thought love will never be his kind of business. He had survived long enough without _‘giving his heart to someone,’_ borrowing Lu Han’s curse, and look. He almost lived an eon already.

So, for most of the time Lu Han was in love, Yifan thought Lu Han was a fucking idiot. Following the Great Khan’s ass acting as his faceless bodyguards and protecting him from the endless trials of assassination, and of course, snacking easily on the battlegrounds at midnights, Yifan wondered how Lu Han could be so stupid to let his heart take the wheels as his ancient brain slept on the calculation of what could’ve happened.

But again, if he _really_ thinks about it, he was the reason why Lu Han met his _heart_ as well. Damn it. He shouldn’t have saved that sinking slave ship from Goryeo. Those slaves, mostly young kids and women were supposed to be their late supper. All they had to do was bring the ship near the hidden shore he and Lu Han had found two days earlier, and feast upon its passengers. But then, out of nowhere, it was sinking, and people were jumping off it.

Now, if you know Yifan, you’d realised that he is a man of class. Living for hundreds of years had helped in putting a great finesse on his appetite. When the clock was not ticking nervously for his thirst, he would take his time hunting and chasing his victims, letting their blood pumped thoroughly all over their limbs, so that when they’re finally caught, he’d get a nice stream of blood flowing down his throat, and maybe it’s just him, but it would taste sweeter as well.

So, bloated corpses are no-nos.

“For Heaven’s sake, just when I was about to taste those women...” Lu Han said as he stood next to him, seething and retracting back his fangs into his upper gum. The jade hairclip that held his white, silky hair was drooping at the back of his head, so he took it off and let his hair be undone. Their all-black silk outfits were flapping rather wildly in the night wind. The hidden shore was only about a kilometre away from the harbour, and from there, Yifan could see some of the slaves who jumped were swimming towards them.

“We still can, but they don’t have to die now,” Yifan suggested, and Lu Han, still fuming, raised a brow.

“You mean we’re going to save these bastards? No way, too much work for me. I just wanted to have a quiet dinner, not a party.”

“Think about it. Those slaves were sold to the Emperor. They are already nobodies. And even the Emperor himself admitted the other day that Goryeo is sending too much of them. We’re just... helping with the solution. And in any case, I like my hunt to be very much alive instead of half dead.” Yifan explained with a devilish smirk, and started floating a few inches above the ground. Lu Han sighed, hesitated for a moment, and then followed suit. Instinctively, both of them put on their masks at the same time.

Hovering above the chaotic water and amongst the yells and helpless prayers to Gods that didn’t seem to care about them, Yifan took his time to circle the ship and have a good look on every passenger. Women were crying while hugging each other, young men and elderly jumping off the edges, hoping to survive the cold water and waves, probably without even thinking whether they were able to swim or not. Children, most of them probably no more than twelve were climbing the tilted part of the ship, hoping they would be the last to fall into the water. And then in a corner near the captain’s quarter, Yifan saw him.

A young man, probably in his early twenties were stretching his arms and pushing his feet against the floor, securing the children inside his arms so they wouldn’t fall and hit by any sharp object along the way. The look on his young face was hopeless, and Yifan felt like he knew he was doomed the moment he looked up and saw two guys floating in the air.

“What a fool,” Lu Han appeared next to him, his voice muffled by the white, plain porcelain mask that he wore. But he didn’t say anything after that. Instead, Lu Han was the first one that went to the tilted front part of the ship and stood there in silence, crossing his arms across his chest. Almost as if he was meditating.

A few seconds later, the part of the ship that was already below the water surface rose up like something big was bumping it from the bottom, and when Yifan saw that, he wasted no time at all. Still levitating, he pulled out the slaves that were drowning and panicking and threw them back onto the ship. He clucked his tongue at some that were already floating lifelessly, _what a waste,_ just for a few seconds before he was back at picking the others up.

Lu Han was pulling the ship towards the harbour where people were standing around, watching with no one having the intention of helping them. Of course, no one would do that. Yifan had that figured out since he heard of them coming. No one was important on that ship, just poor farmers who didn’t have enough money to pay the taxes and got evicted by their landlords.

“Don’t be too close to the harbour, or people will see us,” he reminded Lu Han as he floated down next to his friend. Without a word, Lu Han nodded. He brought the ship close enough for the slaves to jump down and save themselves, and then silently, they both fled from the scene like they always did after they went berserk in the battlefields.

“Th – thank ya!” a young man yelled; the same young man that was terrified but still tried his best to save the children earlier, standing alone on the almost empty deck as most of the slaves were now already on the ground. Their foremen were grouping them accordingly, even though they themselves looked a little black and blue from saving their forever half-drunken asses from the raging water.

Yifan took a good look at this young man who was shivering with what could be adrenalin or fear. Yifan thought fear would fit the situation better. There’s a big gash on his forehead, God knew what hit him there, and his bare arms were tattered in bruises. Yifan didn’t think the bruises were new, though. His single-lid eyes were teary and if Yifan wasn’t carefully observing him, he would’ve thought that the kid was already crying.

“Go. Save yourself.” Lu Han suddenly spoke, gesturing with his hand towards the harbour where almost everyone was already regrouped. The young man turned to where Lu Han was pointing, and then shook his head. Suddenly, a lopsided smile appeared on his face, and his teary eyes turned sharp and suspicious.

“Yer know I ain’t gon die a slave ‘ere. Not on this foreign land.” He said, accent thick and confidence overbearing. In all honesty, Yifan was rather amused by this sudden change of attitude.

“You were brought here to be one. Don’t try to run, or we’ll have to kill you.” Lu Han warned, and for some reasons, Yifan thought his voice was wavering. The slave boy snorted, and then scratched his chin.

“Nah, I’ll pass. Yer don’t ‘ave to kill me. Just make me yer pupil.”

“What?”

“Yer flyin’. I wanna fly, too. Yer gon’ teach me how to fly. Can’t ya?”

“No!” Lu Han yelled, and began to fly up high and away from the ship. The slave boy was still waving and shouting at him when a foreman realised that there was still a slave left on the ship, and yelled at him to come down and join the rest. Yifan, still hovering above the place watched as the slave boy cursed before he finally jumped down into the water and swam away until he was unseen.

“Impressive swimming skill,” was all he commented, before he followed Lu Han to go back home.

 

**1921.**

“ _Tu n’es pas sur terre._  [ You are not on Earth ].” A soft voice woke him up from his memory, and Yifan looked up only to find his date pouting at him. The slow jazz music began seeping into his ears, and Yifan realised that he had been ignoring his date; a young man with rosy cheeks and beautiful smile.

“I am, though?” he disagreed, but not without a flustered smile on his face. The candlelight flickered inside the tulip-shaped glass as a gentle wind swept across the outside floor of the small restaurant they’re dining in, on one of the less populated streets in Paris, and the shadows danced without a rhythm, but still as graceful as it could get on his date’s soft face. A strand of eyelash fell onto the top of his left cheek, and he seemed to be unaware of it. His lips pouted without an ounce of consideration that it’ll probably make him look childish, and Yifan had liked him like that.

“You’re not. You’re probably not even in this lifetime,” he accused again, innocently and probably even with a hint of humour, and at that, Yifan’s face fell a little into a greyish mood. And yet, his smile prevailed as he leaned forward and took the stray eyelash off his cheek, making his date’s face flushed endearingly.

“Yes, you are right. I wasn’t. Forgive me. But now I am, and I would love to give you all of my attention starting this second,” he apologised, and took his date’s hand into his. The wind blew a little stronger, and the candle flickered again, wilder than before. Yifan could hear the rustles and bustles of people standing up from their tables, asking the maître d’ for the night if they could move their seats inside instead for fear of the weather turning violent.

“You’re a wholesome of a difficult man to resist, aren’t you? I should’ve known you’re a red flag from a distance,” he scowled, but still let his hand being held by Yifan. Yifan chuckled, and was about to bring his palm to his date’s left cheek and feel his soft skin against his, when a stronger gust of wind blew again, this time turning over a few tables and chairs, and extinguished the candles on each table. There were grumbles of distant thunders approaching, and clouds were gathering like a herd of black sheep above their heads. The maître d’ already arranged a couple of empty tables inside for those who wanted to change their seats earlier, and Yifan was calculating whether  there’s a need for them to do so.

Surprised and worried, his date stood up and began to gather his brown, wool tweed jacket that he hung over the back of his chair, and pulled Yifan up by the arm. “Let’s go inside, love. I am not entertaining the idea of us walking home in wet underpants this evening.”

The first drop of rain for the evening fell exactly on his date’s small nose, right after he said that. The evening was quiet for just a fraction of second, just enough for Yifan to drew a short breath and instinctively pulled his date against his chest and together, they ran with a loud ‘Nonononono’ and ‘Shitshitshit’ pouring out from both of their lips towards the entrance of the restaurant. And when they were inside and half-drenched, Yifan’s arm still around his date’s waist and his date’s hands still holding onto his arm, they laughed and laughed until their breaths were shortened with snorts.

The maître d’ handed them both towels and apologised for the inconvenience, but Yifan assured him that it wasn’t even his fault. “The weather has never been predictable since the beginning of time, _boy_. God’s trying hard to be funny that way,” and the maître d’ was slightly taken aback as he didn’t think he was any younger than Yifan to be called a _boy_. And if he was unpleasant with being called a boy, he did not show it.

“I’ll prepare you sirs a new seating, so please wait for a moment,” he then said, and as he walked towards the back of the restaurant, he gestured for two of the servers in upright black tuxedos, just like the one he was wearing, to follow him. Yifan and his date watched as one of the servers was uncomfortably fixing his bowtie – his tuxedo seemed to be a bit unfitting to his small frame – and then turned to smile at each other.

“What an evening I’m having,” his date said, and Yifan had a hunch that he was going to be blamed for the daydreaming earlier, still. But his date didn’t say anything after that, instead, he took Yifan’s hand into his smaller one, and weaved their fingers together. He moved closer to Yifan’s side in order to hide their hands from plain view, and with that, Yifan tightened his grip.

“After three long-months of courting you, and just when I’m happy with our first date, the day decided to show how envious it is of me, _ça m'énerve?_ ” he continued with a pout, and Yifan chuckled.

“Now you’re just taking all the credits to yourself. I saw you _first_ —” Yifan said, but then stopped himself. The bell on top of the door behind his date clunked, and a customer, tall and thin, came in shivering. His pencil moustache was dripping with rain water, so he wiped them off with a blue kerchief. He  then took off his wet coat and dark green fedora, and handed it over to the maître d’ that had been busy since a couple of minutes ago, since the rain started pouring.

“Yifan?” his date called for him when he seemed to be petrified by the customer. But when the said customer walked past him and towards a lady whom had been waiting for him at a table in a nearby corner, Yifan’s eyes didn’t follow. Rather, his gaze seemed to fix on something, or someone outside. There was a guy in an earthy-coloured raincoat, standing outside in the rain. His white hair was short and trimmed well, and the heavy rain had flattened it close to his forehead, but he didn’t seem to care.

(His eyes were lonely and longing for someone, before it flickered with a devilish amusement as he turned to see Yifan and his date inside the establishment)

His date turned around, trying to see whatever or whoever it was outside that got Yifan’s attention in this instant, but Yifan caught his shoulder mid-way, and pulled him closer. His other hand was fastened around his date’s slim waist, and there was a shiver in his voice when he whispered an apology to his ear.

“Whatever for? Yifan, you’re scaring me...” he asked, concerned and yes, a little frightened. Yifan’s hands on his body felt cold, yet they were securing him, as if trying to protect him from being taken away. There were a few diners who watched them as they were now being in a quite intimate distance from each other, and Yifan’s date started to squirm uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry... but—” Yifan started again, but this time a tap on his shoulder stopped his words from flowing out.

 _“_ Pardon, _messieurs,_ but we’ve arranged a seating near the fireplace, as from the look of it, you both seem to be very cold; _toi et ton **frère** _ [ you and your brother ] _,_ ” one of the servers who followed the maître d’ earlier came back with a shining smile on his face – the one with the slightly oversized tuxedo – and somehow, Yifan could see a few cogs turning into work. The server’s words made a few halted breaths sighed in relief, and the eyes that were on them earlier finally turned around toward their own respective companions.

“ _Oui, merci_...” his date muttered underneath his breath but still within the server’s hearing, and the young server nodded, his smile untainted. Squirming his way out of Yifan’s arms and playfully punched his chest as he was doing so, his date then pulled him by the hem of his right sleeve as the server guided them towards their table. It was _near_ the fireplace, as promised.

“It’s a shame the weather is not cooperative this evening,” the server told them as he took away the towels from Yifan and his date, given by the maître d’ earlier. Someone was clearing their throat from the entrance to the kitchen, just a couple of metres away from them, as if signalling the server to not make unnecessary conversation. They all turned their heads to the sound, and the maître d’ looked a little flustered.

“As they have been blown away earlier, I’ll be serving your drinks again,” the young server bowed a little, and made himself scarce. Yifan watched as he disappeared behind the huge wooden metal door to the kitchen with another server following his step from behind.

Maybe he had been staring too long, or maybe his date was still upset about the sudden change in his attitude tonight, but Yifan could feel his hand being pinched by someone when he couldn’t seem to stop glancing over the kitchen’s door.

“Adorable lad, isn’t he? Do you want him to sit here instead? I can take my leave for this evening,” he said, in the calmest voice of him Yifan had ever heard. But Yifan knew; he was sure of it, that the moment he would turn his head and attention back at his date, an endearing pout and sulky face will greet him. And still, that would be his favourite face for tonight.

“He is. Although what would his adorableness be but a naught in comparison to yours?” he coaxed, kissing the knuckles of his young date’s hand, counting the lines in every crook and corner while his gaze never left his face. He could _feel_ the young man’s blood rushing to his face; his heartbeat sped up in rhythm, his pupils dilated. Everything on his body screamed _‘I adore you,’_ and Yifan could not be any happier than to entertain those needs.

“You are a bad news, Wu Yifan,” his date replied, breathless with a crimsoned face.

“I’m no bad news; just a stray bullet that you couldn’t dodge, _chéri_.”

*

“You’re as selfish as ever.” The white-haired man said as soon as Yifan stepped out from his date’s front door at four in the morning; his damp long coat now hung messily over his shoulder. Watching as Yifan descended the small steps; he leaned forward and offered him a hand-rolled cigarette from its case, which Yifan politely refused.

Yifan didn’t want to meet Lu Han in the dawn of the day, of any day. Lu Han never brought with him good news. And he definitely hated to see him after spending a lovely night before with his beloved, the warm traces of his thighs around Yifan’s waist and the wet lips that moaned against the back of his ears as Yifan filled his inside would be tainted by Lu Han’s warm voice yet cruel reminder of his curse. And in their numbered days together, Yifan didn’t need any reminder at all.

“You’re not going to die from this little poison, idiot. Live a little,” he chuckled, as he brought the golden cigarette case back to his chest and pulled a stick with his lips. Lighting it up, they both watched as the white smoke hovered above their heads and dispersed into the still darken sky.

“We still have three months together. Why are you here?” Yifan asked him with a strained voice. If he was irritated, he surely had no intention of hiding it from Lu Han. Lu Han, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the reaction he elicited from Yifan by his mere presence.

“Is that so? Another three months? Darn if I hadn’t notice,” he said with mocking voice, and Yifan tried to stay calm. He almost succeeded, until Lu Han asked his next question.

“What’s his name this time?”

“Francis Kim.”

“From Joseon?”

“His father’s side. He’s lived here long enough to forget his mother tongue, though,” Yifan told him with uneasiness in his voice. A couple of young men in overalls and beret walked past them, probably on their way to open up the carpentry down the blocks for the day. He could hear their blood pumped healthily through their veins and the rhythms of their hearts...were tempting him.

Hardworking young humans sure look delicious.

“You weren’t there for us, were you? It was the server kid, wasn’t it?” Yifan continued after Lu Han didn’t seem to be interested in doing so, and he could see the white-haired man’s eyes slightly twitched. For a second there, Yifan was reminded with the familiarity he felt when he saw the server’s smile earlier.

The same smile that stopped Lu Han from going berserk a few hundreds of years ago; the same smile that sparked his rage toward Yifan since.

“I just missed him. That’s all. And to think he’d be in the same place as your human this time around... Gods sure love to mock us.” Lu Han acknowledged, looking up towards the sky and randomly counting the stars.

“You’re not going to do anything? The world is going to be a lot less kind after this decade. I’ve met a bastard in Germany three years ago and he’s brewing an agenda. The world will change, and it’s not going to be pretty. If I were you, I’m not going to put him through times like that.” Yifan told him, and Lu Han inhaled his cigarette for quite some time.

“Is that why you’re meeting ‘Francis’ this time? To make sure he’s not living through the hard times? Make love to him any time you can, and then watch him die at young age?” Lu Han shut his eyes, and waited for Yifan to answer his question.

“I’ve lived through enough centuries in the darkness to let him even smell the rotten miseries for a day,” Yifan said with a strong conviction to his words, and something shone inside his eyes.

“You’re a selfish man,” Lu Han repeated again, throwing his cigarette down onto the icy pavement, and crushing its light with the tip of his left shoe. He put his damp coat back on, and started to walk slowly in the same direction as those young workmen earlier. Yifan followed suit.

“I’ve been a selfish man for as long as I can remember, Lu Han.” Yifan replied as they’re now walking side by side. The young workmen were a few steps away from them, laughing about the jokes they exchanged and yawning every few minutes; the coldness of the morning were draining their energy in a short amount of time.

“...You can’t stop this curse and I don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“I want you to suffer thoroughly, as long as you can.” Lu Han reminded him, but they both knew it was a useless gesture.

“So I’ve been told.”

They followed the two workmen by foot as close as they could get, and then they started to hover above the ground.

There were hellish screams in between the buildings, of the lesser known street in Paris that morning.

Those young workmen in overalls and beret did not get to their carpentry that day. They never did.

*

Francis Kim had been receiving a single rose the colour of blood every morning since three months ago. Sometimes it came with a note tied to it, left on his doorstep when he was opening his front door to pick up the milk and newspaper. Nothing special, just a ‘good morning and have a nice day’ written on it.

Sometimes, when Yifan stayed over after a date night, the rose would be inside the small, transparent tulip-shaped vase filled with water, and a cup of lukewarm black coffee – just the way he liked it – would be accompanying it. Although, Yifan never stayed for breakfast.

But for the last week, the roses had changed their colours. From the blood red, he’d been getting bright pink roses for three days straight, and this morning, it was a pale rose with thorns clipped off its stem.

Francis Kim was not very good at reading symbols and signs, so he was rather flustered to find himself noticing the changes. Maybe since it was a noticeable difference; maybe it was because of Yifan.

His lover, Wu Yifan, was a rather peculiar man. They had met almost six months ago, during Francis’ second month as an automobile seller and he had bought a beautiful black Twin-Six Packard from Francis. He remembered being a little annoyed when Yifan arrived at the store just five minutes after seven on an early winter’s evening as the sun disappeared, just when he was about to round up the account and close shop for the day. Yifan had walked around for ten minutes, inspecting a couple of roadsters and tutting at a few bright-coloured ones, before he stopped in front of the Packard and nodded. Francis was grateful for his purchase, though, since he didn’t have any customer for the last few days, and bought Yifan a drink later that evening. (When he asked Yifan during their second date as whether Yifan had bought the car with the intention of courting him, Yifan had smiled embarrassedly, and pulled him in for a kiss. Yifan did not answer the question.)

Yifan had been visiting his house almost every evening now, and left before sunrise. Strangely, Francis never did ask him about his job, but he had figured that Yifan was not a mere salary man. His suits were tailored, his fedoras were usually leathers, and his cologne was most probably not available in the cheap perfume stores where Francis usually got his. Although he had asked where Yifan got his cologne, and Yifan said he did not wear any.

Of course, rich men developed their own scents.

“Are you leaving?” Francis asked sleepily when he felt the bed creaked. His naked body was covered up to his waist with the duvet, and the fireplace was now a dim light barely alive. The coldness of the early morning crept in like small knives through the cracks on the old walls of his house, and Francis shivered as he saw Yifan putting on his trousers.

“Yes. I’m afraid I have to leave you now, or I’ll have a hard time fighting the urge to lock you up and make love to you until you perish,” he replied, easily buttoning up his sleeves and fixing his hair with just one hand. Francis laughed a little loud at that, and then he yawned until his jaw let out a small cracked sound.

“Sounds like a wonderful way to die, though, having you in my arms. Why don’t we do just that?” he suggested playfully, crawling out of his bed while enwrapping his body with the duvet and went to the middle of the small room where Yifan was standing, already inside his long coat. Francis wrapped his arms around Yifan’s torso, burying his face inside the broad plane of his lover’s chest. The duvet dropped heavily down to his waist, and Yifan’s hands grabbed its hem as it slid even lower against the top of his bum. Looking down, he could see his own teeth marks crowning Francis’ pale flesh there, and his face lit up.

“You have no idea how I would love to do just that,” Yifan said with a sigh, and pulled Francis by the chin as he kissed him tenderly. It was a long kiss, and it felt as if they wouldn’t part for the day, but Francis eventually smiled against Yifan’s lips and pushed him away.

“I’ll be waiting for your rose. I love the pinks, but I’ve missed the red ones, though. Do you think I can have them red today?” he asked, pulling the duvet back up until it covered his chest, and Yifan had nodded to his request.

“You’ll have a bouquet today. But it’s going to be later than usual. Is that alright?” Yifan asked, and Francis nodded with a pretty blush on his cheeks.

After that, Yifan left him with another kiss and a promise of _‘see you again,’_ but somehow, Francis felt as if it was a promise to be fulfilled in another lifetime.

*

It was an easy death.

A roadster had its brake malfunctioned. It hit the front of the automobile store, while he was having lunch at his desk with his manager and thinking about the bouquet he was promised.

The front wall of the premise collapsed on top of him, and the heat of the upturned car’s engine was burning his left arm. Francis could feel his ribs broke and puncturing his lungs. He could feel the blood pooling in his mouth.

 _“See you again,”_ he had whispered inside his head, as he remembered Yifan’s eyes that dawn.

He thought Yifan was crying then.

He was right; Yifan was crying. Yifan was already crying as he watched people crowding the unfortunate premise where the roadster toppled over from the shadows of the buildings across the street. He was crying when he smelled the sweet, sweet scent of Francis’ blood calling for him in the midst of the burnt woods and metal and flesh, and he cried even harder as he saw a nameless young boy with a pretty smile and a peony in his hand.

Yifan was crying, because once again, he was reminded of how the weights of memories would crush him every damn time he said goodbye to his _heart_ , and he did not make enough of memories to last him while his love was gone.

Yifan was still crying that evening when he put the beautiful bouquet of blood red roses in Francis’ burnt, lifeless left hand. He didn’t know he had that much tears in him to sob for a long time.

“See you again, darling.”

 

**1275.**

That little runt from Goryeo was called Minseok.

Yifan had thought how that name was a bit ahead of its time, but names are always recycled. At one point of a time, it would become an old man’s name after all. Lu Han said the name was beautiful and brave at the same time, though.

“My mom, she loved rocks. Expensive stuff, yer know? Said I is pretty ‘nuff to be a jewel, but colourful ‘nuff to be a jade,” he told them as he handed the small wine cups. They had been on the topic of names and their meanings that late evening, and somehow Minseok started boasting about how his name really resembled who he is.

“You are nothing but a river stone as I see you, Minseok,” Yifan mocked him as he received the cup, and Minseok seemed to try hard enough to not spill the hot wine onto his lap. Lu Han pretended not to be amused by coughing into the sleeves of his casual robe, but Minseok caught him smirking and pulled a pout.

“Yer bet I am. But river stones can still be pretty, don’t it? Yer still draw skies and trees on it, and poems, too. Yer still put some in yer beds to ward off evils.” He said with an eager nod, and Yifan could almost see Lu Han’s face blushing, if only vampires have blood in their veins.

“So Lu Han, do you put Minseok in bed to ward off evils, too?” Yifan teased, and they both turned their heads so fast toward Yifan, he was kind of scared for their necks might snap and break at the same time. He knew he’d savour Minseok before disposing his body somewhere, but he never buries a fellow vampire before.

“It’s... it’s pretty late! I have to wake up early tomorrow morning to chop the woods! So, good night, dear sirs!” Minseok excused himself rather hastily, and almost stumbled on his way back to the main house. The sound of his blood rushing and pumping in his veins was so energetic and _delicious_ ;Yifan might have drooled if it wasn’t for the sake of respecting Lu Han who was still a little incoherent in front of him.

“He speaks well when he’s pressured, huh?” Yifan said with a laughter accompanying his words. Lu Han decided that it wasn’t a wise decision to dance around Yifan’s teasing, so he cleared his throat, and downed the wine in his hand.

“I’m thinking of staying.” Lu Han suddenly told him out of the blue, yet Yifan was kind of expecting him to say so. Calmly, he put down his cup and placed his hands onto his lap, giving his fullest attention to whatever Lu Han was preparing to tell him.

“It has been a while since the last time I found a place and built a home. And now... now is probably the right time to do it again. With him. _And you,_ if you were to agree with me.” He proposed, voice trembling slightly as he looked up to meet Yifan’s eyes.

Yifan understood his intention perfectly. They had been together for the past few hundred years, hunting and hiding from humans, watched as civilisations grew and collapsed, learnt cultures and taught them to others, only to watch their pupils died in hunger of powers and wealth. And they had not met any of their kinds along the way, so they had accepted that they might be the only two bloodsucking bastards left on earth. Or maybe, they were the only two bloodsucking bastards ever created by the Gods.

Either ways, they were just two lonely creatures.

“Have you tried walking this world before you met me, Lu Han?” Yifan asked, and Lu Han tried to remember before he shook his head. Honestly, Yifan’s question threw him quite off the track. Yifan smiled with a lonely expression, and continued.

“I have been in the wars with the Romans, watched them rose and put my faith in them. I’ve watched them came up with machineries and arts and books to praise the Gods they believed in. I was there when they put down the first stone to build Constantinople, fought against and with the Arabs for its key, and saw how dirty human politics can be. I almost built a family there; there was a woman I loved, who loved me back. She thought I was a human,” he paused; poured another cup of wine for himself, downed it, and filled his cup again. Lu Han watched, and waited. In his head, he wondered how long Yifan had travelled the world alone, and somehow, he regretted not taking his time to do the same thing.

“I wanted to become a human so much, so I starved myself. Because humans don’t kill other humans for food. They don’t slit throats and drink their brothers’ blood. I thought I could live like that. I fed on animals. You know how their blood tastes like, don’t you? We lived in the jungle for thirty years, after all. It stinks, and tastes like mud.

“I survived for a year, but my self-restraint was running low. I was angry almost all the time, but I was also in love. I thought my resolve was undefeatable. Those carcasses weren’t only dried of blood; I tore them up and feasted on their raw meat – the lowest a creature like us could have gone to. And one night, I lost it,” he paused again, but he did not pick up his cup of wine, nor did he smile anymore. There was a glint of red in his dark eyes; a glint of whomever Yifan was before he came back to this part of the world and met with the young, starving Lu Han, the little monster of the East.

“I remember feeling her neck crushed inside my left hand, and the smell of her sweet blood filling the small hut we were living in outside the city. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. I had a brief thought at the back of my head as I ripped her head from her neck; that a part of me was supposed to be human, and I should control this beast who was murdering my lover. But you know what?

“As soon as I saw that she was dead the moment I had her in my hand, a huge part of me gave up, just like that. I accepted that this beast is me, and I will never be human, no matter how well I imitate them. What is love, anyway? Just a fleeting moment of desire and lust. Honestly, I didn’t even cry when I left. I didn’t even regret that I fed on her blood. I even thought that I should have done that on the first day I met her, instead of dwelling on my so-called feelings for her for a long time.   _I was satisfied._ ” He finished, and finally lifted the now lukewarm cup of wine to wet his throat. They were drowning in their own thoughts for quite a while after that.

“That’s a long detour of saying _‘I do not support your decision this time,’_ old man,” Lu Han finally broke the silence, and his face was showing his discomfort. Yifan almost laugh again, yet he knew he could be staked in the morning sun for doing so, so he kept himself in check.

“I’m not telling you _no_ , idiot. It’s your choice; to be _with_ him or   _without_  him. I’m just saying that in the end, you will be all alone again. Love is just... a manipulated feeling. And since we’re the only two of our kind we’ve ever known, we grow fond of our _livestock_. Or _pets_ , in case you’re not planning on devouring him in a literal sense,” he explained; a cheery expression came back to his face.

But Lu Han was not smiling with him. Lu Han was thinking about Minseok’s smile whenever they woke up together in the morning instead. He was thinking about how soft the skin on Minseok’s back, and how pretty Minseok looked like when his whole body blushed as he reacted to Lu Han’s touch.

Lu Han thought; “Ah, I might just let this love thing drown me in Minseok for a long while,” and he said it out loud for Yifan to hear it.

Yifan chuckled, and poured a cup of wine for the slightly tipsy Lu Han instead.

“If you insist. But don’t mistake me for an acknowledgment in this matter. When the time comes, I might not be in your favour at all.”

Yifan was telling the truth, but Lu Han was too naïve back then to hear the warning in his voice.

 

**1924 – 1940.**

Yifan is a simple man.

The day Francis Kim was gone; with the pain in his eyes and in his old-centuries heart, he took an evening cruise to the United States with a relief. In the sixteen years that followed, he had stayed there, fishing and hunting from the beautiful coastal towns in Maine to partying amongst the nameless starlet-wannabes in California. But this way of hunting only excited him for a couple of years. He then thought that to pass his time which has been rather stagnant since forever, he might as well enrolls in a school and keep close with the humanity’s achievements for the years to come, just like what he had been doing since eons ago. Learning always pays, and he enjoys it, anyway.

He still kept track of birth records and soul registry every year, just in case the boy with the peony or Francis Kim who loved red roses passed through the filters. He once knew a Chanyeol who seemed to be in the business of jack-of-all-trades amongst the immortals for about two hundred years then. He looked like he was in his twenties, but Yifan wondered how many twenties had he gone through to know where and when to pull his strings. And he did look a little out of this world, as far as Yifan could remember. Not that Yifan himself was any different.

Chanyeol would meet up with him every Christmas’ Eve in a thin, oversized white shirt buttoned to his neck, un-tucked from his oversized black slacks and sans shoes. His shoulder-length red hair seemed to be wild and fiery, yet he calmed it down by tying it neatly to the back of his head. Yifan had thought that maybe Chanyeol was fire, so he did not feel the snow melting underneath his feet.

“Your beloved soul isn’t on the list this year. Should I congratulate you, or should I sympathise with you?” was Chanyeol’s usual dialogue, and over the years, Yifan had grown a little fond with his flat tone.

“You should do neither, but drink with me,” was Yifan’s usual reply, and he would drag the barefooted Chanyeol to the nearest restaurant around, and ordered the most expensive wine they had. Chanyeol looked to be in his twenties, but his drinking told Yifan that he might have watched the first cup of wine being poured from Jesus’ hands.

He had been honest with Chanyeol when he first requested for the latter’s service. He had told him about Lu Han’s curse, and why Yifan would never blame Lu Han for it. And he had told Chanyeol about the young boy and his peony. The lamplighter boy who stole his heart a little too late and gone too soon. And Chanyeol listened.

“Thank you for your service this year as well, brother,” Yifan would usually toast, and Chanyeol, despite the flat tone in his speaking manner, would beam up like a sun. Yifan had thought that he had also grown fond of this smile over the years, as well.

 

**1930.**

Chanyeol came to him again on the night of Christmas’ Eve. Yifan was in New York then, enjoying the early years of the Great Depression, when people were more willing to give away their sweet little children to him for the food and clothes he provided them, without even realising all he did was taking care of his livestock.

Chanyeol had come to him while he was just standing outside the old St. Nicholas church in Rockefeller, wondering the irony of religions and the funny thing humans believe in, just to stay relevant. It was snowing earlier, just for a short while, but the snow in this kind of economy kind of made everything seemed worse than expected.

This time, Chanyeol had let his hair—now just a few inches above his waist—down and it swayed and danced gently in the cold winter wind. He was still wearing the same oversized shirt and slacks, but he had a pair of shoes on. His face was smiling, but Yifan had lived long enough to understand misery at first glance.

“Your beloved soul... do you still want them?” Chanyeol had asked, and for the first time in doing their business, Yifan saw him shivered while surrounded by snow. His tone was still flat, but his smile wavered. Yifan did not answer him immediately, so Chanyeol decided he should continue.

“You’re not the first client of mine who’d come and asked for this service. There were people who wanted me to find them the mortal souls that travelled within the limbo, waiting for a chance to be reborn. Some of their beloveds, some of their enemies. For good intentions and bad deeds. And I delivered. I always deliver,” Chanyeol said, taking a step toward Yifan. He looked uncomfortable inside his shoes.

“You always do, brother.” Yifan told him, not moving from where he was. A couple of young boys, couldn’t possibly be older than sixteen broke out in laughter, intoxicated with two bottles of cheap beers and bowls of chicken soup, probably handed out by the shelter three blocks away earlier that night. It was Christmas’ Eve, after all.

“You told me it was a young soul that got tangled up in your little game with Lu Han. That it couldn’t have been around for more than a couple hundred years. But Yifan... I found it to be a lot older than what you’ve thought it to be.”

“What are you trying to say, brother?”

Chanyeol took a few long strides, and almost instantly, he was standing in front of Yifan. His flaming hair looked so soft that night, and Yifan suppressed the urge to wipe away the few strands that stuck on Chanyeol’s soft cheeks.

“1275. It has been around since 1275. The Great Yuan dynasty. Lu Han put the curse on you around then, didn’t he? Your beloved soul was created the year you were cursed... it seems highly suspicious to me,” Chanyeol’s face finally revealed his thought, and Yifan had never thought that misery could look so beautiful on a person.

Slowly, and carefully, Yifan lifted one of his hands, and palmed Chanyeol’s cheek. There was a dimple that showed up because Chanyeol was frowning. Chanyeol’s cheek was soft, as he expected. And warm. He had thought that Chanyeol was fire.

“It feels like you are telling me that my beloved soul... is the product of my own curse. Am I right, brother?” Yifan asked, looking directly into Chanyeol’s eyes. He saw a flicker of red light crossed inside Chanyeol’s huge bright eyes, and as soon as he pulled his hand back to his side, he could see the red tint on the latter’s cheeks.

“Chasing after a curse... is a very damaging thing to do to yourself, Yifan. I don’t want you to do that.” Chanyeol told him in a hushed voice with a downcast gaze. Now that Yifan was nearer to him than he ever had been, he realised that even the roots of Chanyeol’s brows and lashes were red, like the colour of his hair.

“Feels like you’re looking down on me when you say it like that, brother. We might be immortals, you and I, but we definitely do not resemble each other.” Yifan took Chanyeol’s hands by surprised, and pulled him closer until their chests met and long legs entwined. From a distant, the two underage boys who were still drinking were making strange noises and laughed like maniacs.

They did not care about the two adults being suspiciously close to each other in front of them.

“I’m a damaged creature myself, Chanyeol. A little narcissism would keep me entertained, don’t you think?” Yifan said with a smirk, and pulled Chanyeol in for a kiss.

*

Yifan brought Chanyeol home for the first and last time that night, and touched him in places that made Chanyeol whimper and moan. His fiery hair seemed to be glowing when Yifan was inside of him, and his tears seemed to be cheaper than expected.

(Yifan was particularly reminded of Francis’ soft moans and chuckles, and he did feel a bit guilty, but Francis wasn’t there that night, so the guilt didn’t count)

When he woke up the next dawn, Chanyeol was gone, and there was a note written with writings that were scorched by fire into the paper.

_‘1931. Korea. May we will never meet again.’_

 

**1940.**

When The Second World War finally broke out, he was tempted; it had been a while since he last feasted on a buffet. Lu Han did visit him during the final days of summer that year, asking him if he wanted to join him to stop the war. Yifan thought he had gone mental.

“We either start a war, or we watch it happen. We don’t _stop_ it.” Yifan said with a snicker as he handed Lu Han a bottle of root beer he made in his secret wine cellar. Lu Han received the bottle with gratitude, took a sip, and chuckled.

“You do know they’re making this in factories since decades ago, don’t you? Genuine sassafras is already illegal, by the way, you criminal.” Lu Han said and let out a big laugh, then took another sip. The fresh, bubbly taste was relaxing, and he appreciated that Yifan had put only a considerable amount of sweetness in the brew. There was a hint of alcohol in it too, although not as strong as he had wished it to be.

“I love authenticity. And I’d rather put the knowledge I’ve gained in making this to use than have it wasted away just like that,” Yifan explained, and poured himself a glass of root beer.

He had return to Maine the previous summer, as he had found that life in the big cities was, while rather easy for him to hunt for preys, suffocating and most of the time his food didn’t taste as sweet as they used to be. Probably because of the pollution that was beginning to spread all over the world; or that humans had just grown bitter to cope with the new wave of the so-called humanity.

The countryside community was perfect for him, if Yifan had to be honest. Granted, they’re probably one of the most religious, closed-up groups of human he’d ever lived amongst, but their effort in facing the hard times and avoiding the unwanted war were just as intense as his. Yifan couldn’t say they were doing so on the same ground, though.

“Minseok is here.” Lu Han suddenly told him out of the blue, and it took Yifan his whole being not to spill the glass of drink onto his lap as he sat down. Outside, in his fenced backyard, the sheets he put out early in the morning before sunrise were dancing wildly as a gust of wind passed by. The sky didn’t seem to be cloudy.

“Not exactly  here. I was in Japan last year, and some things happened, and I was sent to Korea. And I saw him. He’s going to be eight this year... I’ve been all over the world looking for him, and of all places, he returned to the one country he was chased out from. So typical of him,” Lu Han said silently against the thin lip of the bottle, his eyes wandered far away to a place Yifan couldn’t see. It had been a while of them meeting each other, and while it was impossible for Lu Han to age, he seemed calmer then.

“Well, he wasn’t the brightest of the bunch in the first place,” Yifan tried to joke an agreement before he realised how inappropriate that sounded. He had expected Lu Han to throw him the bottle in his hand, but surprisingly, he just chuckled along.

“So you want to stop this war for him?” Yifan then asked the obvious, and he waited for Lu Han to roll his eyes at him, but the latter didn’t. Instead, Lu Han continued to linger around in that place where Yifan couldn’t see, and smiled sadly.

“He didn’t look great. He’s alone and... The war might take him away from me, again. I don’t want that to happen.” Lu Han told him with an honest face, and somehow the root beer didn’t taste as delicious as they thought it to be. Yifan put down his mug, and took his time to rearrange the words he had in his mind.

“Francis Kim felt like this.” he said, and Lu Han looked up to him. Yifan was smiling fondly, as if he was remembering something beautiful and sacred to him.

“I didn’t want him to face this war. I didn’t want him to grow old in this war, scared of his surroundings, and scarred for life. I didn’t want him to see what he would have lost, even if it cost him his life. You’ve said it before; I am selfish. I don’t mean for you to feel the same way as I do, but at least you would understand now.” He explained, and took his time to read the expression on Lu Han’s face.

Lu Han’s white hair was trimmed short this time, that from far away he might as well be bald. There was a new scar underneath his neck, as if it was done by a reckless usage of a dull knife. Yifan didn’t want to ask what Lu Han had been doing in the last few decades, just like how he didn’t want Lu Han to ask him about his.

“I still won’t lift the curse from you. You know that, right? As pitiful as you make it sound like, I’m not over it.” Lu Han reminded him, but there’s nothing harsh in his tone, unlike how he usually did every time they met. Yifan was taken by surprised by the warning, but honestly, he felt it somehow funnier when Lu Han said it that way.

“I know, Lu Han. You might think I’m mocking you when I say this, but your curse, other than sorrow, has given me a lot of other new things I did not expect. I guess I should thank you?” he said with a smirk, and Lu Han seemed to be holding his punch from reaching Yifan’s face.

“As stupid as it might sound, are you still thinking of stopping the war?” Yifan asked again with a curiosity after a few minutes of silence. Lu Han had finished his drinks, and was about to get up when the question hit him.

“I won’t. Although it’s highly possible for me, I think it’s not a wise decision to be done. But I’m still going to him. No matter what, I’m going to be there for him.” Lu Han answered him with a tone that was half enthusiastic and half dread. Yifan nodded, but just then, he was reminded of Chanyeol’s red hair and final note.

 _Poor Chanyeol for feeling,_ he had said inside his head and sighed deeply.

“You brave little creature,” Yifan praised him and patted his head, and Lu Han yelped in disgust. Yifan pretended to not see that reaction, and took a look outside to his backyard. There was a small clump of dark cloud gathering in the distant, and the wind outside had become somewhat fiercer than it was just a few moments ago. There was also an aloof grumble of thunder, so Lu Han excused himself from Yifan’s little cottage by the coast; not that he was a little bit joyed seeing an old familiar face after a while. He was already half opening the front door when Yifan called him in a soft voice, which made it pretty hard for him not to stop and turn around. Yifan’s voice must have been one of his supernatural ability as this unearthly creature; Lu Han was convinced of it since centuries ago.

“Hey Lu Han?”

“What now?”

“A few years ago, someone told me that it might be possible for my ‘heart’ – borrowing the words from your curse – to be created at the same time you put it on me. Is this something that you have the knowledge of doing?” he asked while trying to keep the smile on his face. Lu Han did not need the smile, however, to know that Yifan had been dying, _figuratively_ , to have his answer to the question all along. He wanted to tease Yifan for a moment, but thought the better of it when he saw the rigid expression Yifan had tried to hide behind the smile.

“It might seem like a lie when I say this, but I try not to dwell in the complicated business of the Gods, Yifan. Soul business is a bitch, really. All I know is to cast spells and curses; I don’t give a damn about what happened behind the curtains to make them work. Your ‘someone’ must have been quite an expert in his business to have that figured out,” Lu Han guessed, and he might have guessed it right. But Yifan did not need to be reminded of Chanyeol’s flaming red hair or his pale feet against the snow every time they met. He did not need the memories of Chanyeol’s warm lips and whimpers, or the way his body arched when Yifan touched him that night.

(he had them imprinted in his brain, but what use they have to him now?)

“He could have. Haven’t seen him for ten years now.” Yifan agreed half-heartedly, and Lu Han took his moment to think.

“But... but you could see it in this way, couldn’t you? You didn’t have a heart before, Yifan. You were gentle, but you were heartless. I saw it in the way you hunted, in the way you taught those humans from the old days. You would pick up a child that almost fell, but if they were already on the floor and hurting, you’d rather let them bleed to death.

“You were heartless, so my curse, despite sounded petty due to anger, might have been translated to the Gods as your cry for help. They must have thought that you needed a heart, and I just happened to be at the right time to give you one,” Lu Han ended his explanation, and there it was, the same cold expression from the night in London when the lamplighter boy was dying in Yifan’s lap. Twisted as it may be, Yifan had missed this coldness in Lu Han.

“It might as well be that way,” Yifan passively replied.

“...does this mean you’re going to your heart again? Is this an intervention to your pending decision?” Lu Han asked this time, and his voice seemed to make him sound as if he was getting agitated.

“I’ve been thinking... of letting them grow old properly this time.” He confessed, and Lu Han’s face looked nothing but appalled.

“Look. I might have called you selfish, but it seems to me you have mistaken it as an advice rather than a taunt. Did you think my curse was for you to lose your love in 6 months’ time? No, Yifan. My curse was for you to suffer every time you lost it. So suffer properly, Yifan. Find them, lose them, and then suffer. Or I’ll do it in your place.   _Losing them, I mean._ ” Lu Han barely finished his words when Yifan grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pushed his long, thin fingers deep into his soft skin. He could hear the sound of his bones cracking, and his muscles beginning to torn. _If only we bleed,_ he had thought for a second.

_Oh, if only we bleed, how wonderful dying must have felt._

“I accepted your curse. I accepted all your hatred and anger. But be it as maddening and sickening as it could get, it’s a curse that belongs to me _now_. Nobody touches what belongs to me, Lu Han, or have you forgotten that? Had I gone too soft on you,   _boy?_  Should I put you on a stick and let you simmer in the last little sunlight left of this season?” his words seethed through his teeth, and unknowingly, he had drawn out his long canines from their hiding. Lu Han couldn’t see his face with the way he was being held, but he could feel it.

The way Yifan’s eyes turned golden and burning, and the way his shadows dispersed underneath his feet. Yifan was right; Lu Han had forgotten how Yifan was centuries ago. He had flipped a switch he shouldn’t have lingered with.

“Then... do it... as how you’re supposed to... you fucking coward.” Lu Han spat out his words the best he could, and Yifan let him go with a throw. It took Lu Han a few minutes to have his neck bones readjusted into their places, and when they did, he turned around to see Yifan standing behind him with his arms crossed in front of his chest, and his smile radiant.

“Of course I’ll do it. I was just having a moment, Lu Han. This is a game between us, remember? I’ll play with you till you’re satisfied.” He said, and then pulled Lu Han up from the floor. Irritated, the latter pushed him away with a snarl.

“You son of a bitch. You just couldn’t have it ended on that good old toast with the root beer, could you?” Lu Han cursed, and stomped his feet out the front door.

 

**1275.**

Runaway slaves had always been a problem exaggerated by small, insignificant officials in the castle. It wasn’t like the slaves were having an uprising against the Emperor all the time. Even when they did, Lu Han and him would usually shut them down with a simple talk and decorated lies.

Most of the time, though, the leaders for the awaited coup d’état would either lose their minds, or in the case of unnecessary stubbornness, would mysteriously disappear. Peace was preserved by they who worked in the shadows, veiled by the anonymity. But this time, a particularly hard-headed official was convincing the Emperor that a certain slave from Goryeo had been hiding and manipulating two high-ranked officials, names confidential.

Yifan had said that he would not be on Lu Han’s side when situations like this happened. While he did not oppose Lu Han’s decision to stay with Minseok here in this prospering country, he also did not say anything about protecting them, either. All that Yifan could see was Minseok being an impending burden to Lu Han as time passed by, and as always, humans perish faster than creatures like them.

Yifan had thought; why must they invest in something that was impermanent and consumed precious efforts from them, when in the end, it would not even stay with them? However, as he saw Minseok being beaten up repeatedly in the head by a wooden truncheon until he bled, and dragged outside from the house, he did wish for Lu Han to return soon (just to enjoy what kind of reaction that he could elicit from Lu Han when he see how his beloved human was treated).

But Lu Han was not fast enough. He had just returned from a secret visit to the small countries under the Emperor’s reign that were suspected to be planning an uprising against the dynasty, feasting upon the rebels while he was at it. He returned to an empty courtyard with the haystacks that Minseok had dried, tied up and readied for the horses in preparation of early winter that year undone and small drops of blood crusting near the barn’s door.

Yifan was sitting on the small platform where they would usually have their wines after a successful day on a mission or after a satisfying hunt; sipping calmly from his small ceramic cup.

Lu Han immediately had an unsettling feeling weighing inside his stomach.

“I don’t see Minseok around. Did you perhaps send him out for an errand?” he asked, and for the first time in the centuries they were together, they both heard Lu Han’s trembling voice. Lu Han himself was surprised, and if Yifan did too, he just didn’t show it on his face.

“The guards came and took him away.”

“...and you let them?” Lu Han thought about his voice straining, and there was a force telling him to walk over to where Yifan was sitting and put a stake to his chest, just because he felt annoyed by Yifan’s flat reply. But Yifan was not going to let him do just that; Lu Han figured. In fact, he would probably be the one gutted by the tall man’s claws if he was unlucky enough.

“Will you go and save him now? While you still smell like the young slaves’ leader you had for breakfast this morning? Aren’t you a little biased in your action, Lu Han?” Yifan asked him with an air of superiority; which was not something alien in the way he carry himself since Lu Han first met him. Yifan had always appeared as if he had seen too much and felt too much, bled too much and yet to die that he could not care less of how other people would be affected with his action.

“Don’t you dare... Don’t you dare making this thing about me now. You know it’s different. You know Minseok is _different_ — ”

“From the other humans you’ve fed on? Just because he warms your bed at night and tells you that he loves you?” Yifan asked again, getting up from the platform and standing tall in front of Lu Han who seemed to have an invisible cat gauging at his tongue. The sun was setting behind Yifan, and the last flock of birds for the day was swarming in the red orange skies, fluttering their wings home. The evening wind was harsher as only a few days were left before the real winter coldness set in, and if they were lucky enough, the snowstorm ought to stay away for this year.

“I love him,” Lu Han finally admit, not that it was news to Yifan. Lu Han, who could have rip Minseok’s mortal body apart just with one hand had carefully touched the servant’s sleeping face when he caught Minseok sleeping on the platform after a day at the field. Lu Han, who could bite deep into Minseok’s jugular vein with his canines and suck his blood dry, had planted plentiful of playful, harmless bites on Minseok’s suntanned neck on nights when the Emperor did not need his service, and Yifan had thought how foolish Lu Han had become, just because he was in love.

Yifan had thought he was in love too, didn’t he? But he still ate his woman.

“I know. And didn’t I tell you that love is just a fleeting moment of desire and lust? You, a monster who feeds on humans, falls in love with a human? Isn’t that morbidly twisted?” Yifan said with a snicker, and Lu Han stared at him with hateful eyes.

“Who are _you_ to tell me what love is? You, who could not even control his urge to eat over love, thus killed and _ate_ his woman,” Lu Han replied; eyes glistening with the red from the setting sun and from their own glow. Yifan tried his hardest to not flinch at Lu Han’s word, but even a fool could have seen how it affected him by just a look on his face.

The wind was getting stronger as Lu Han let his long, white hair down, pulled his sword out of its golden sheath and put on his mask. A lift of his right hand commanded the wind to bow down to his feet, and elevated him into the air.

“My love for my human is twisted; I know. You should know that better than anyone. You’ve seen me killed hundreds of thousands of his kind for hundreds of years, yet Minseok is alive and smiling and thriving as I keep him beside me. And if I have to bring this whole kingdom down just to keep his smile as it is...” he rose higher in the early twilight, and began to propel toward the now darken East, where the castle stood almighty.

“You’re going to destroy this peace we’ve found after a long while; just because of a human you’re obsessed with, Lu Han. You know I can’t let you do that,” Yifan had warned him, as he too began to hover on the roof tiles of their house, and tried to eliminate the distance between them without Lu Han noticing. He had planned to get a hold on Lu Han as soon as he could, because they should have put an end to Lu Han’s silly affection to Minseok earlier, before all these nonsenses happened.

(in a distant future, Yifan had thought about what an insensitive arsehole he had been back then, and while Lu Han’s punishment on him was hard enough, he had always wonder if Lu Han had been soft on him in a few places)

 “ _...then so be it._ ”  Lu Han’s eyes changed into bright rubies as he ended his words, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

*

Yifan had thought about it briefly as he walked into the underground prison where potential threat to the Emperor like Minseok was held, and put a sleeping spell on the five guards on duty in the cell; but Lu Han was indeed, pretty bad with timing. He was fast, sure, but he was so used to moving according to his inhuman instinct that he sometimes forgot about the basic technicalities in being this creature.

For instance, doors and windows were made for them to be invited in. Breaking in had never been an option for them; that was why they perfected their charm spells instead. And while getting into the castle from the airway was easy enough, going underground still needed them to deal with doors.

Really, if only Lu Han didn’t let his so-called ‘love’ blinded his judgement; Minseok would have been safe inside his arms instead of struggling to breathe in between Yifan’s claws.

“You took your time.” Yifan said in a sing-song voice, licking Minseok’s tanned neck and baring his canines dangerously close to his jugular, standing in the middle of the cell, waiting for Lu Han to make his move. Lu Han hissed and growled, but kept his distance when Minseok began to lose consciousness.

“Let him go, Yifan. Or I’ll tear you apart, and you can go down along with this kingdom you’ve come to love so much,” Lu Han’s voice trembled with anger, and if there was a warning in there, Yifan could have laughed it off. Still, he loosened his hold on Minseok’s neck, and as the poor human gasping desperately for air, Yifan took his time enjoying the sweet, faint scent of blood from the small pricked wounds he inflicted with his nails. He did not let Minseok go, however.

“I don’t _love_ this kingdom; I am simply comfortable living in it. We’ve been dwelling with humanity and its civilisation for hundreds of years, Lu Han. This has been the most fulfilling life I’ve ever lived. Why must you go and ruin it all now? And you’re willing to put your trust entirely in this human? Despite all the accusations that brought him to where he is now?”

“That bloody old oaf is a liar,   _you know that!_  He wants to be hailed as the Emperor’s protector and secure his place, and what is a better way than using this opportunity to take both of us down using Minseok?” Lu Han shouted, and his voice was ringing loudly against the walls. Outside, the heavy door was being pounded by the guards who were chasing Lu Han while he was crossing the southern courtyard to get to the prison earlier.

“I know; _we both know_ that bloody old oaf is a liar, but we didn’t really ask him of the things he had or hadn’t lie about, did we?” Yifan asked Lu Han, but turned his stare onto Minseok instead, and the servant, now fully aware of what was going on, and how dangerous Yifan’s eyes were started to tremble with fear, but still bravely averting his eyes from Yifan. The atmosphere in the underground prison was suddenly filled with doubt; most of it coming from Lu Han.

Lu Han was silent for a couple of minutes, and Yifan almost smile triumphantly when Minseok coughed a little as he raised his head to look at Lu Han properly.

“Yer an idiot, Master Lu Han. Lived for a long time, but still, yer an idiot, dumber than I is,” he said with smirk, and coughed again when he felt Yifan’s fingers pressing against his Adam’s apple. His eyes that were usually bright and lively, now looked weary and frightened, but were still staring into Lu Han’s pale face, and somehow, behind those staggering corneas, Yifan realised that Minseok was probably not scared of him at all.

Minseok didn’t look as scared when Yifan arrived earlier and broke into his cell after casting all those guards to sleep. He didn’t even look as scared when Yifan showed him his canines or when his sharp, pointy fingernails were digging into his skin. In the mere seconds after Minseok had spoken, while waiting for Lu Han to react to it, either with a reply of incoherent mumbles or simply a stroke of his unsheathed sword against the human’s throat, Yifan had come to a realisation that Minseok was, in fact, afraid of anything that Lu Han might show on his face.

As if he was waiting for Lu Han to kill him instead of showing him how hurt and disappointed he was with Minseok. And when Lu Han showed nothing and said nothing, Minseok kept on staring, and continued his words.

“Monsters like ya, Master... don’tcha have a instinct or sumthin’? Keeping a human like me when yer eat humans like me... yer think yer gonna make me silent as long as yer feed me and fuck me on yer bed? Idiot.” He spat, and coughed harder as Yifan unconsciously tightened his fingers around Minseok’s neck again. Lu Han was still standing inanimately in front of them; his sword now lowered and his stance was void of defence.

“I promise ya this, Master. This kingdom and the heartless Emperor that heads it will go down in flames, and who’s going be the better warriors to behead them than the slaves they spit on?” Minseok asked rhetorically, and Yifan had thought how his speech was better when he was flustered or pressured on. Secretly, he took another look on Minseok’s face, and damn if he was mistaken, but there was a trace of tear that slid down the human’s left cheek, and while he didn’t, he was sure Lu Han had seen it as it fell.

“Enough.” Lu Han finally said, letting go of his sword to the floor, and it clanged loud enough against the surface, as if letting everyone who was there know to its real weight. He didn’t tear away his eyes from Minseok, just how Minseok’s didn’t from him. Looking back, Yifan hated this moment the most. Moments where he was excluded from; moments when two souls that he knew were communicating with each other right in front of him, yet he had no clue of what it was about.

He especially hated the rare moments when Lu Han shed his precious tears as he looked at his human as if Minseok was something so dear and precious (he used to look at Yifan that way, many decades ago when Yifan picked him up from an abandoned well after they got separated for a month).

“Enough. That is enough. I understand, Minseok. So that is enough.” Lu Han continued, walked a few steps forward to where Yifan and Minseok were, and sprinted when the annoyed Yifan finally let Minseok’s neck to escape from his grip. Minseok let his body weighed him down and fell on his knees, panting desperately for air. Lu Han caught him and brought him into his arms with the gentleness of how he would attend to a feather, and Yifan worried his lower lip.

Outside, the poundings on the door became a series of big thumps; the guards must have had found a knocker to break it down, and Yifan began counting the minutes before they would be surrounded.

“This... this wretched kingdom... it will go down in flames! I’ll make sure of it!” Minseok yelled as Lu Han cooed him, patting his bleeding head from the injuries inflicted probably from the questionings by the guards earlier, and Yifan could see Lu Han’s eyes changed into a dangerous haziness, as his anger was clouded by his tears. Yifan circled them with a calm expression, as if he was looking at an art statue in an exhibition. He could see how Minseok’s tears did not simply flow down his cheeks anymore; it rained down in big droplets of salty water, pooling on the dusty floor of the prison and kept on falling as he began to let out ugly sobs from his throat.

Silently, Yifan wondered if he really cried in fear of his impending death due to his blown cover, or simply because he could see that Lu Han was crying, too.

“I understand, Minseok. So you can stop now. Please.” Lu Han said as he kissed his human’s eyes, and slowly, Minseok’s sobs ceased into little hiccups as he quietened down. Taking a deep breath, Lu Han looked up to where Yifan was standing as he cradled Minseok into his lap like a small boy.

“Do you still wish to live in the luxury of this kingdom, Yifan?” he asked after a minute of silence, and Yifan had snorted before he nodded with a smirk. Lu Han’s eyes were still dangerous, even though now they were hooded by his silky white hair that fell to the sides of his eternal young face. His fair skin had always made him looked as if he was glowing underneath the moonlight, and Yifan was reminded of how he used to let himself be mesmerised by Lu Han’s beauty in those silent, passing nights back then.

What an experience.

“...I assume that you’ll be leaving?” Yifan asked in response, but Lu Han seemed reluctant to give him an answer. Instead, he kept his eyes on Yifan’s face, and it made Yifan uncomfortable, being watched like that. Lu Han’s stare had never been anything than piercing, and Yifan felt it the most right then.

“Could you please pick my sword up?” he asked for Yifan’s favour with a disquieting politeness, and Yifan, despite a silent siren was going off inside his head, obliged. In Lu Han’s arms, Minseok seemed to be at ease – Yifan doubt if he was even barely awake. His head was lolling onto Lu Han’s right shoulder, and the bleeding from the back of his head seemed to have stopped dripping.

Yifan handed the long, thin sword that had been accompanying Lu Han since the past decade – he could feel the souls that had been ripped off of their earthly vessels as he held the snakeskin handle – but Lu Han refused to take it. Yifan’s brows creased, but he held onto the sword, still. Lu Han dragged his eyes back onto the now half-awake Minseok, and Minseok had smiled softly as he saw his Master.

“Even if I had told you that I could take you away from this country, and hidden away from the people you work for... you wouldn’t want to live on the run   _again_ , would you, Minseok?” he asked his human, and Minseok had shaken his head firmly.

“I’m no coward, Master. I’ll gut meself out if I have to hide again. Not anymore.”

“...then what about me? What will become of me, Minseok? You stole my whole being with your existence; how will I live without you then?” Lu Han cried again, this time he did not have the intention of hiding it. His body trembled as he sobbed into Minseok’s cheek, and Yifan wished he was not listening.

“Yer live for hundreds of years, Lu Han. Stop being a child,” Minseok scolded him with a weak laugh, but anyone could taste the sadness in his words. His laughter died when Lu Han’s sobs became wails. In the short minutes they had until the door to the prison was broken down by the strong guards, Minseok had put his palms on both Lu Han’s wet cheeks, and connected their lips for what felt like an eternity.

“Yer barely found me in shallow water, Lu Han. I is nothing but a river stone. We know yer ain’t gon die for a long time, and I believe we gon meet again...   _so find me, Lu Han._  Find me as soon as yer can, and then don’t lemme go. I promise ya; _I is waiting_ ,” Minseok whispered against his lips, and they kissed for a second time. After that, Minseok closed his eyes, and he stayed still against Lu Han’s chest with his head propped on the Master’s shoulder; breathing yet unmoving.

“Aren’t you devouring him? What a waste,” Yifan had commented thoughtlessly, and caught himself doing it a moment too late. Stumbling as he walked closer toward the two lovers, Yifan lazily dragged the sword behind, and little sparks of fire appeared as the metal clashed against the floor. In any other situation, Lu Han would already curse at him for treating his beloved blade without respect, but tonight, Yifan had a hunch that it will be the last night Lu Han would even touch the weapon inside his hand.

“I don’t want to taint his soul. I don’t have the right to...that goes the same to you,” Lu Han’s eyes were now daggers, digging into Yifan’s being. Yifan nodded with a chuckle, as if entertaining a kid.

For a moment, they listened together to the sound of heave-hos, and then the heavy thump as the wooden door hit the ground. The excited and angry breaths of those humans who were thinking they could have a chance at even touching Lu Han the traitor’s body was an entertaining afterthought of everything that was going to happen in this place tonight, and for a mere second, they both felt the bittersweet emotion filled the space.

“Lift the sword,” Lu Han finally said after the rushing footsteps of tens of people were on their way to where they were, and Yifan did as he was told.

“Place it here,” Lu Han ordered him again, as he took the unsheathed end of the sword with one bare hand, and placed it slowly on the left side of Minseok’s back. With a small pressure, Yifan shallowly buried the sharp tip of the sword into Minseok’s skin, and blood began to seep into his ragged outfit. Minseok let out a whimper, but his eyes were still closed.

“Deeper. Push it deeper, and let him bleed.  Push it deeper... ” Lu Han said, as if he was watching Yifan doing it onto someone else. As if he wasn’t there, waiting in front of Minseok, receiving the blade into his flesh as well. His hand that was holding onto the blade; the part that was left unburied behind Minseok, was cut, and his flesh was showing, but they never bleed.

On the front part of Minseok’s left chest, both their clothes were now painted in crimson, and the overwhelming sweetness of the blood was making Yifan dizzy, but the guards were coming, and he had been old enough to know better by then to not to show his monstrosity.

“You took a year to try to become a human for the woman you _thought_ you loved, but you said it was useless, weren’t you?” Lu Han caught him off guard, and while he was struggling to decide whether he should nod or shake his head to the question, Lu Han pressed himself into the end of the blade that had pierced through his human’s chest. Minseok’s blood was running on the blade and into his bloodless chest, and in that instant, the sweetness that filled the air earlier dispersed into nothingness.

“You could have done something for us; for me and Minseok, but because you thought love was a fleeting desire, you wanted me to be like you – _loveless and lonely._ ” Lu Han’s voice was strangely strained, and Yifan felt the danger.

“I don’t appreciate that justification you’ve put on me,” Yifan had said, trying to release the blade from his hands, but he was unable to do so. Visibly struggling, he didn’t realise how Minseok’s blood had climbed up to the blade’s snakeskin handle and wrapped around his hand like a crimson-liquid spider web.

“So now _I curse you, Yifan_. I curse you to lose your heart whenever you found it – _I curse you to chase it endlessly, until you perished_ – until the end of time.”

“ _...what a useless curse_.  If that is what you need to put you at ease, then I will gladly accept it.” He had said arrogantly, and Lu Han had chuckled a little darkly.

“But we have had such a good accompaniment in each other, so I will bestow you a chance of being in love for half the time you suffered with your last _almost-love_ as a farewell gift. Half the time you've given me with mine in this lifetime. Six moons’ cycles, and then you’ll be parted.” Lu Han added, before he fell down to the floor with a dying Minseok in his arms. Tears were flooding down his cheeks as he closed his eyes.

“Then I will still accept it with much honour,” Yifan had bowed at his then lifeless friend, gathered the angry mob of guards around him, and told them the story of a chase between him and his unexpectedly disloyal citizen of a friend he had written in his head beforehand.

*

Minseok’s body was thrown in the field on the outskirt of the capital together with Lu Han’s just a few hours before the dawn of the next day; just as what Yifan had expected for a couple of mutineers against the Emperor.

When Yifan came to take a look at those bodies in the evening, there was a pile of huge, beautiful river stones where Minseok’s body was dumped (even though the field was nowhere near the river), and Lu Han was not there. Yifan took his time giving a final respect to Minseok with a small cup of rice wine and some cold meat dumplings – the human’s favourite.

“Even if you had given me a whole century, Lu Han, your curse is still a useless incantation,” he had said against the cold wind of early winter, and as he took another sip from his own cup, Lu Han’s voice echoed from the nearby forest.

_Don’t be too full of yourself. We’re two peas in a pod; you cannot escape love, Yifan. Don’t be too full of yourself._

“Of course I will be full of myself... _just how much love can you gain in six moons’ cycles?”_ he had scoffed; again, thoughtlessly. He finished his wine, bowed at the river-stone grave, and left Minseok to rest there for eternity.

Yifan had never thought his own voice could sound as warm as he spoke of a curse that had befallen on himself.

 

**1951.**

“You patched me up well, Doctor,” his English was thick with the native accent, but it was good. His smile, despite almost half of his face was hidden behind the neatly wrapped, blood-stained gauzes, was still as bright as the moon outside the mobile medical tent. He grunted a few seconds later though, as the fresh wound on the left side of his head started to sting. Yifan could taste the fresh blood flowed and absorbed into the cottons, and bit his lip.

“Just doing my job,” he replied in Hangul, humbly. His work hour should have ended that afternoon, before the sun came out and burn him ugly. But as it was January, and with the smokes from the war blanketing the horizon, the sunshine was drowned by dirty snow and dampness and hunger. Sirens blasted just before lunch time, telling every medical officer about the incoming wounded, and if you’re not on the verge of collapsing, please lend your hand. Yifan had thought of escaping, but he wasn’t tired (hardly ever) and the sweet smell of blood, despite overlapping with the burnt flesh and gun powder, was keeping him on his toes.

It was almost four in the morning, and the sound of heavy machineries had ceased hours ago, along with the sounds of artillery shells and the cries of the wounded. The realisation that even the worst war had its own resting hours made Yifan felt tired for doing the human’s job for the first time in his long life. He had at least expected for him to finally have his break in two hours’ time. By then, the sunlight, while it would not be burning him as bad as the afternoons did, would still make his skin smell like a walking test tube filled with sulphuric solution, and he hated that smell with all his being.

“I’m sorry. I was supposed to be your help. Sorry.” A timid voice woke him up from his thoughts, and Yifan turned away from his desk to the rows of beds behind him in the sick bay, searching for its source. It was not a long search, and it seemed as if the owner of the soft voice from earlier wanted him to find them faster. As soon as he saw Yifan’s head turned, the small guy whose head he had wrapped just a few moments ago stood up from his bed, and bowed until his body looked like it was snapped in half.

“It is alright. And I wouldn’t want to lower my head for too long like that if I were you; it fucks up the blood flow,” Yifan said with a snicker, but the small guy in the private uniform refused to put his head up. Slightly annoyed, Yifan stood up, walked over to the private’s bed, and held his shoulders.

“I’m very sorry, Doctor.” He said again without lifting his head, and Yifan’s hands on his shoulders became hard grips.

“Whatever you are apologising for, Private? For riding on a supply truck that was cowardly ambushed by the enemy; for being injured on your first day as an army nurse; or for ever coming to the war zone in the first place while belittling the inevitability of death? Stand up straight,  and look me in the eye. ” Yifan gave him an order with a low but strict voice, and as the small soldier stood up, Yifan could see his beautiful eyes shone like a newly replaced light bulb when they met his darker ones.

“...for being useless, even when I’ve finally met you in this life. For worrying you even when I wasn’t around with you. For making you live in dread of missing me, even when I’m here, right in front of you right now,” the small soldier smiled softly, and Yifan was reminded of a night in Paris, crying over a bouquet of red roses sitting on top of closed mahogany coffin. Letting go of the young cadet’s shoulder, Yifan took a step back and inhaled deeply, clearly perturbed by the cadet’s words.

“Is this why you insisted on being a nurse, despite not being drafted because of your eyesight? Are you an idiot? Just because I love you, doesn’t mean I want you to follow me into this idiotic battle of arrogant men, Kim Junmyeon,” Yifan wiped a hand across his face, and the small rookie army nurse, now with the name Kim Junmyeon chuckled lightly and opened his arms, waiting for Yifan to walk up back to him and embrace him tight. Yifan did not let his wait goes unattended for long.

*

A day after Lu Han’s visit in Maine, Yifan packed his luggage; which was nothing except for his passport and accounts for international banks, and went to Korea by hitchhiking a military airplane that was taking a delegate of important officers from the USA for a negotiation of peace in secret with the Japanese, thanks to a few connection he had made (a couple of meals that he had refused to consume, and they were paying for their lives, literally). Chanyeol’s note from years ago was kept safely inside his notebook, and looking for an old soul in a 9-year-old kid was quite hard, especially when the only clue was the year they were born next to a hateful note by a hurt, discarded lover of a one night stand.

Yifan spent almost a year trying to track his _heart_ around the city of Keijō, looking for a kid while laughing at himself all the time for feeling like a creep who could not move on from an old love. It wasn’t like this when Chanyeol was still at his beck and call, and in a devastatingly hopeless search like this, Yifan could see how he had wronged Chanyeol quite horribly during their last meeting.

 “I am but a mere monster,”  he however kept on telling himself, as if justifying that he did not need to live according to what humans would call a respectable gentleman’s act of conduct.

 And when his search almost reached a year while he became a medical practitioner just to keep himself busy, he found a young boy staring into the window of a florist shop one evening, and Yifan’s body moved nearer toward him with a frightening certainty.

Hiding behind a corner and away from the boy’s sight, Yifan felt his chest weighed down by tonnes of emotions as he saw the boy was staring at a bouquet of lovely red roses while his tears seemed to be dripping down his young cheeks without his permission. He only stopped crying when a man, probably in his late thirties came to pick him up, nagging him to never leave the house and wander so far into the city ever again.

“You’re the weirdest kid anyone could have ever met, Junmyeon-ah. Why do roses and peonies make you cry so much?” the man had said as Junmyeon laid his head onto his strong shoulder and wiped his eyes, before forcing himself to smile, even though anyone could have seen what a sorrowful smile he had chosen to put on.

The boy, however, looked like he was loved aplenty, and Yifan, despite the promise he had made with Lu Han during their last meet to keep on playing and chasing, just didn’t have the heart to become the resolute death of this beautiful body his   _heart_  had decided to house in.

*

It was hard for Yifan to not count the time whenever he was with Junmyeon, especially when their first meeting in this lifetime was only a day after Junmyeon had turn twenty. He had been staying in Korea, had been playing his brilliant façade as a capable doctor while sinking his teeth into a few helpless case at the same time; had learnt Hangul while he taught English and Chinese and French and many other languages the people around him had asked him to teach; all the while keeping a safe distance for Junmyeon, as well as watching him grow.

They had met in a park near to Yifan’s clinic in the evening of one of the few last days of spring, and Junmyeon was sitting underneath a very old cherry tree that was blooming wildly, on a wooden bench that was a little damp from the light dribble that afternoon. Watching him from afar, Yifan had realised that Junmyeon’s eyesight had gone worse from the thickness of the lenses on his round glasses, yet from the thickness of the book on his lap, he didn’t seem to care much about it. He had liked it when Junmyeon decided to grow his hair a little bit longer that he eventually had to tie it, and as he wore the hairstyle, exposing his fair, slender neck all the same.

Junmyeon had been trying to get drafted for the on-going war with the North and the Chinese, because his father had gone and fought and lost his life bravely on the battlefield. And every time he tried for the medical examination, his bad eyesight was a barrier he just could not overcome, and Yifan had wished that he would never do. He had wished for Junmyeon to live this life a little longer, now that he had seen him growing up.

Yifan was about to leave when he heard Junmyeon sobbing, and then a call of his name.

“Will you never look at me in this lifetime? Will I always catch only the back of your shoulders and be contented with it, Yifan? Do you not love me when I am not Francis anymore?” Junmyeon had asked, silently and desperately, that it came out as a mere whisper; and it took Yifan his entire being from flying to where Junmyeon was sitting and kiss him breathless.

Instead, he walked over with a calm face and a maddening heartbeat, took a deep breath, and sat on the damp bench, just a few inches away from Junmyeon.

“I have loved you even when you were without a name, Junmyeon,” Yifan had replied, and in that instant, he could feel a familiar sensation ran through his spine, and it had always been there, since the little lamplighter boy died on his lap, waiting patiently for another meeting like this. Yifan knew that Junmyeon had felt the same – his bright eyes behind the thick lenses were watery, yet filled with a clarity that Yifan hadn’t found even once in his life.

If this was the feeling when Lu Han’s curse began to take place, then Yifan had been ignoring it for a damn long time.

“Then what took you so long to find me? I have known only you ever since I understood love; what took you so long?!” Junmyeon began to cry, and his cheeks became so endearingly red that Yifan had to pull him in and kissed him with a gentleness he had developed all these time waiting only for his heart to feel.

“I was getting ready,” _for our next parting,_ but Yifan had left the words unsaid as he pulled Junmyeon in for another kiss.

*

Two months later, he was begged by one of his many connections to assist the army medical team because they were low in practiced surgeons (and a promise of a fresh buffet, of course, if the frontline squads were helpless against the Chinese). Yifan had left Junmyeon crying in front of his clinic with a promise of handwritten letters every week, and whenever possible, a return in secret.

But the world had changed and kept on changing, and Yifan got caught up with saving humans instead of devouring them, that he had let the calendar on his work desk unattended for a while, with letters to Junmyeon ceased from once a week to barely one in a month.

Five months, three weeks and four days later, Junmyeon was delivered to him with fresh blood on the side of his head, and Yifan flipped his calendar for the first time in months. He was shocked to see the accumulated pages of days that went by without him noticing inside his hand.

*

His huge hand carefully cradled Junmyeon’s left side of the head which he had treated earlier, so that he wouldn’t bump hard into the wooden pole of his personal tent as their kisses turned a little more violent and clothes began to fall one by one near the small fire they had lit up earlier inside the worn metal bucket in the middle of the tent. Junmyeon had whimpered when Yifan’s cold chest rubbed against his nipples, and he had let out a lovely moan as Yifan’s rough palm was sliding down his hardness. Junmyeon was warm and soft and tender, just like how he was when he had been Francis. Probably a little skinnier, and slightly rougher on his young jaw as he didn’t have the time to properly shaved as he was attacked on his way to the camp, but lovely nonetheless.

Yifan was holding him at arm’s length as Junmyeon propped his thighs onto his lover’s hip, allowing unrestrained access to his naked lower body, and he had shaken his head in desperation when Yifan did not hug him close as he penetrated into him.

“I... _n-hnn._.. lost my glasses, so you need to hold me closer...I want to see your face...” he had told Yifan, and Yifan obliged to his wants. His cold, long arms reached around Junmyeon’s waist and snaked onto his bony back, and Junmyeon had cried out loud with every move that Yifan made, feeling the pleasure deep inside him intensified with every thrust against his own body weighing down onto Yifan’s erection.

Yifan had let the world slowly turning on its axis when they both climaxed as the first sunrise arrived on top of his tent, and as he kissed Junmyeon’s slender neck with a ravenous intensity, he had momentarily wondered what would happen to Lu Han’s curse if he had taken out his canines and bury it into Junmyeon’s flesh.

Would it change Junmyeon? Would they be able to stay together forever that way? Would Junmyeon follow him to the deepest pit of hell, knowing that there would be no chance of him to be untainted again?

Because Yifan was tempted to do so; he was tempted so badly. This game had been tiring, chasing after his own _heart_ was a dreadful cycle he had beginning to despise, and not seeing his beloved soul for years after years after just six months... now he perfectly understood the reality of Lu Han’s hateful curse on him, and he had wished that he was kinder to him.

But then Junmyeon sobs with a multitude of pleasure as Yifan slipped out of him, and Yifan realised that he had loved all versions of his heart when they shone brightly in their untainted vessels.

Junmyeon’s skin had a similar scent that he had caught on Francis years ago, and Francis’ skin had the similar sweetness he had tasted from the blood that flowed from the lamplighter boy’s body more than a century ago. Yifan’s heart began to break inside his chest, and if only he could bleed, he would have cried out blood the moment he realised that his _heart_ was going to leave him again.

Two more days left.

“Even if I was given a century, it couldn’t have been enough.” He had whispered to himself, and took Junmyeon’s hand into his, kissing the thin bed of his wrist as the young army nurse drifted into a contented sleep on the doctor’s bed.

*

It was early morning.

Nobody saw when Junmyeon got out of Yifan’s tent, but he might have probably did it discreetly – spending the nights in the main surgeon’s tent was not a good image for an army nurse that was injured before he could even report for duty.

The camp was near the first line of defence, so the security was tighter and more intense than the other camps Yifan had been to, if he had thought about it. He hadn’t thought about it when he let Junmyeon got out that morning.

Junmyeon might have told Yifan that he remembered living a life as someone who spoke French once upon a time, who sold roadsters for a living, and who loved red roses as it reminded him of his beloved. He might have also told Yifan that he had always feel sad when the spring was coming, because the flowers would be in full blooms, and in his house back in the city, his late father planted a lot of white peonies in their small front lawn so Junmyeon wouldn’t have to wander far from the house just to look at a flower shop and cry.

Yifan might have laughed at that, and called him adorable. Jumyeon might have laughed along.

But that was all that Junmyeon had told him, and Yifan had wished that Junmyeon had told him more. Not that Yifan could have done something even if he was desperate to, but at least he would   _feel_... actually, Yifan didn’t really understand how knowing all of these beforehand would have made him feel.

Like how Junmyeon was barely able to see the melted snow when the morning got a little cloudy after the injury, or how he couldn’t really find his footing whenever he stood up, so he would always stay lying down on the bed in the sick bay until Yifan came in at night and carried him away into his tent when all the other patients were sound asleep (they always were whenever Yifan was there).

Yifan didn’t really understand how knowing all of these bad things that were happening to Junmyeon when he was right inside his arms in the two days left for them to be together would make him feel. Angry? Sad? Devastated?

Yifan had left all those feelings behind when he had reached his two-hundredth and still looked like when he was twenty-six. He had left those feelings when he killed his fiancée in the old Rome, accepting that he would never be able to let humans make him   _feel_  again.

Yet, in the morning that Junmyeon left him, Junmyeon had kissed him on the lips, but found his cheek instead. Junmyeon had laughed, and Yifan had chuckled, before they find each other’s lips, and the kiss got longer – and Yifan felt his heart being tugged.

“See you later,” Junmyeon had told him, stumbling outside the tent’s mouth, and Yifan had closed his eyes for a rest; he hadn’t feel the need to even nap until this wretched century arrived.

And then he heard it; the explosion.

“Someone had wandered into the death zone!” a cadet on patrol duty had yelled, and commotion occurred.

_“Didn’t he see the sign?”_

_“Oh my god...it’s the injured new nurse...”_

_Who’s gonna pick him up? This is the first time I see it with my own eyes...”_

“See you again, darling,” Yifan had said, bringing both his hands to his face, and made sure that his sobs weren’t heard by anyone outside his tent.

 

**1984.**

“You took your time,” was Yifan’s first greeting the moment he saw Lu Han entering the café with a middle-aged man towing behind him; their fingers entwined so naturally as if it was an unspoken rule between the both of them to do so whenever they were together.

“You’re just early,” Lu Han retorted, pulling the middle-aged man closer as they were walking toward where Yifan was sitting inside his knitted black turtleneck sweater, reading an old, tattered book with his steamy cup of hot long black waiting on the table. Listening to Lu Han casual reply, Yifan let out a big laugh as the middle-aged man pulled out a chair and sat down in front of him, while Lu Han sat next to him.

“Been waiting here since 1951 – I don’t know if I’m still early or just missed a goddamn timing. Is this him?” he said, putting down his book and then sat up straight after they were all settled down in their seats. Outside, the late winter night sky of Seoul was rumbling with thunder, and just a couple of seconds later, a heavy downpour hit the frozen asphalt. The three of them witnessed a couple of young boys hiding away from the rain as they exited the last bus of the day, and found shelter outside the 24-hours café they were in. Yifan could see one of them were nervously taking out a bulk of printed papers from his sling bag to check if they were drenched from the rain, and took a deep breath when none were wet to the point of destruction. Good for him.

“He’s old.” Yifan commented when none of the two guys in front of him spoke, and he could see the middle-aged man inside the bespoke, cedar-coloured suit flinched uncomfortably. Lu Han rolled his eyes, and patted the older-looking guy’s hand, as if saying _don’t worry, I’ve got this._

“Compared to you, Minseok here is merely a sperm,” he replied, and Yifan just took his time to pick up his coffee and took a long sip from the cup.

“ _Compared to us both_ , you mean,” he said after a few moment of silence, in which Lu Han had successfully ordered a serving of BLT and two cups of plain water, because Minseok was watching his sugar level, and he didn’t plan on losing him at least for another twenty years. At his words, Minseok’s eyes widened, and Lu Han rolled his eyes again.

“Whatever, not like that's a secret anymore to any of us. Hey, I’m going to go and hit the gents, so why don’t you two have a talk first? Be back in seconds.” Lu Han cooed him, and as he stood up, he pulled Minseok’s face closer to his and kissed his temple. Minseok’s old face were crimsoning as mad when he heard Yifan said a silent “wow,” and realised that the two young boys outside were staring at him after Lu Han left the table.

“Lucky you; he’s the type to flaunt his lover like that,” Yifan whistled playfully as he took another sip of his coffee, while making a hand gesture at the two boys outside, asking them to not to stare anymore because Minseok was obviously uncomfortable.

“He is,” surprisingly, even with his blushing face, Minseok’s answered him with honesty, and Yifan felt a little touched. He turned his gaze to the old guy once again, and even in his modern outfits, Yifan could still see the ragged, wild servant with loud, unrestrained voice from back then – the servant who fell in love with a monster like Lu Han and him.

“...What did he say when he brought you here? That you guys were going to meet with a client of his?” Yifan asked, and Minseok, now looking a little calmer, shook his head. He smiled politely, and Yifan felt like having a smoke.

“He said we’re meeting a friend. And... I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“For... your loss.” Minseok bowed a little, and a few strands of white hair fell out of their places onto his forehead. Like this, Yifan felt a pinch of pity toward Lu Han for how the time wouldn’t stop for Minseok, unlike how it was for them both.

He had long stopped asking himself whether they were the only two creatures alike in this world. He was sure Lu Han had, too. By then, as he was listening to the lazy pop songs that were played from the jukebox in the hallway of the almost empty café, Yifan had a sudden realisation that he had accepted his existence as this creature – a vampire of the East, together with Lu Han – in a very calm and passive way anyone could ever imagine, that now it would feel scary for him to think of himself as anything else.

“Thank you.” he nodded, and tried to smile.

*

 “I remember you.”  He said; pale face, sunken eyes, lips that could have used a little baby oil on them to ease the painful cracks. Yifan smiled warmly, as he walked past the other empty beds that had strong disinfectant smell on each of them, pulled out the small chair underneath the only occupied bed in the room, and sat down.

“Of course you do. I just came here yesterday. It’s Yifan, remember?” he replied as he put the bouquet of red roses onto the patient’s bed, and the patient – a small guy who wore a dull red beanie to cover his balding head – smiled so warmly as he thanked Yifan, the evening sunlight that shone through the only window without drape would have shied away for its brilliance. Nodding, Yifan led his bare hands to reach for the top drawer next to the bed, and took out a small, round, metal case of petroleum jelly.

“You know that’s not what I mean. I mean... _I remember you_. I have had different names, different faces, different eye colours... but in every different version of me, there you were. With the same sad eyes and the same sad smile...” the patient yawned slightly, and let Yifan took his bony hands into his big ones. The itching rashes that appeared one day and grew on the back of his hands and between his bony fingers had just ceased from bleeding, and he was reminded of the way the nurses threw his lunch together with the embalmment and the pills when he asked for them to sooth his wounds.

But this Yifan... he walked in yesterday evening without a single protection, not even a mask on his face, and went straight to his bedside, and introduced himself simply as Yifan. Yifan told him that he’ll be there every day from now on; and while he didn’t even bother to ask for his name, put a small calendar next to his bed. Yifan had touched him carelessly as they spoke; holding his hands and rubbing their fingers together, patting his back gently when his coughing fit that induced vomiting returned, and had laid him to sleep with a kiss on his forehead before he went home near midnight.

And he didn’t even ask for his name, still.

“Of course you do. You’ve been changing languages and voices, names and faces too damn much; you’d need someone as unhindered and as strong as me to help you hold onto this world,” Yifan said with a calmness that felt as if it had been there for a thousand years, and continued to rub the petroleum jelly onto his rashes and wounds.

“I hope I’ve loved you in those different languages and voices and names and faces.” He said with a smile, and Yifan leaned in for a short kiss on his chapped lips.

“You have loved me in the little efforts you have made, and in every short breath that you had breathed.”

*

Lu Han had returned from the gents while Yifan and Minseok were talking about this one Western author that had written a best-selling book about vampires, and how it was too different from what Yifan and Lu Han had been throughout the centuries.

“So is it true that you’d only die if someone draws a stake through your heart?” Minseok had asked with a great amount of interest; his eyes were shining and his curiosity overwhelmed his old face, and Lu Han had looked a little concerned as he sat back down at his place.

“Anybody would, don’t you think? By the way, Minseok, they’ve got quite a selection for pies over the counter. Do you want to take a look? Whatever you’re having, get a slice for me too,” he said, trying to pull Minseok in for a kiss again, but his lover was quicker to avoid him this time. With a red face, Minseok straightened his suit, and walked to the counter. Lu Han’s face was full of love as he watched Minseok speaking animatedly with the guy behind the counter, Yifan might as well thought that he had forgotten about the identical wounds on both their chest he had put there seven hundred years ago.

“You didn’t stop the war at all,” Yifan said with a smirk only Lu Han understood, and Lu Han sighed contentedly.

“I didn’t. Like what you’ve told me; we either start it or we watch it happen. I decided to pull Minseok out of it, and watched it happen with him by my side.”

“Are you happy?” Yifan asked, watching as Lu Han’s calm face changed into a clouded expression.

“Happier than you’ll ever be, though... sorry that it took less than what I’ve given you this time around. Sorry for your loss. This sickness that came along with the civilisation... never once I’d thought it’d be more powerful than a curse.” Lu Han told him, and Yifan had nodded without a reply.

*

Minseok didn’t remember who Lu Han was, but Lu Han was persistent. He had pounded the story of their love right into Minseok ever since he took Minseok in as a baby, and Yifan had wondered if Lu Han was right about himself – that the way he love Minseok will always be twisted.

But while they were left by Lu Han earlier in the café, Minseok had said, _“for any wrong you’ve done unto me, I understand that you have been living with its consequences until now. My forgiveness will always be ready for you, so find me once you are done. The curse might be all on Lu Han, but my forgiveness in entirely mine.”_

Ah, Yifan felt as if he had left a heavy burden back there on the seat of the café as he watched the two mismatched love birds – a middle-aged man and a young guy with flashy outfits – walked out with hands still entwined, and love undefeated.

Lu Han was forceful, but hey, he was the one who had watched his lover grown from a kid into an old man in the end. Yifan wondered if he could ever be so forceful with his beloved soul.

In the cold crisp air of midnight, Yifan put his hands into the front pockets of his coat, and made his way home. Listening to the squeaky sounds his shoes made against the wet path, he was reminded of Lu Han’s words earlier, how the sickness was powerful enough to even deny the strength of his curse.

Lu Han was wrong.

His beloved soul was sick, and that sickness would have been a rather natural way for his life to end, but he _refused_ his sickness to do its work.

Having travelled across the universe only to have just a few seconds of feeling each other’s skins, a few seconds of kisses and a lifetime of waiting, even a gentle soul like his heart would turn against the divinity once in a while.

Yifan closed his eyes, looked up to the heaven, and he saw his beloved soul standing on the edge of the hospital building. His sunken eyes gazed upon the well-lit city at night, and Yifan knew what he was looking for in between the buildings and their neon lights was something beyond what he could reach.

 _“You have loved me when I was that mute little lamplighter boy who could give you nothing but a peony, and you have adored me when I was Francis; my supple body was loved thoroughly night after night after night. When I was Junmyeon, I was treasured so well by you, that the pain of being blown to death still leaves me with a grave regret to this day,”_ his beloved soul had said; this time his dull red beanie was left unbothered on the floor next to him. His hair, long yet thinning so rapidly that his scalp that was so full of lesions made by his own fingernails were apparent to Yifan’s eyes.

He stopped walking, and opened his eyes again. The night’s stars weren’t as bright as he wished for them to be.

 _“But Yifan, how can you love me, when I am being presented to you in this disgusting body this time? Even the doctors refused to touch me. I was not left in the ward to be treated; I was left to die,”_ his voice rang inside Yifan’s ears, and Yifan understood his intention that night perfectly.

Yifan had the speed enough to bring him away from the dangerous ledge into his arms, but Yifan also understood that his beloved soul did not want that. Yifan could love him and show him how much he did, but his beloved soul would not be able to accept his love, if he didn’t even have the luxury of loving himself.

 _“So Yifan, can you wait for me? This time, I will come to you running. I will treasure myself better, and when we finally meet, I will love not only you, but myself too. So please, my darling, wait for me?”_  his voice sounded as if a mixture of too many voices moulded into one person, and Yifan realised that they were all once belonged to the same soul.

_“Okay.”_

 Yifan remembered listening to his own voice trying to hide the trembles as he spoke.

_“I will. So don’t go too far, and don’t go for too long. I will wait right here with all the roses and peonies I can get my hands on, so when you do return, cry. Cry all your heart out, and I will, too. For all those times we were separated, for all those kisses we couldn’t have, for all those nights we could have been together._

_Come back here and love me; you better remember that.”_ He had said to his beloved soul, and they both cried until their voices disappeared, and moments later, Yifan was crying alone on top of the hospital building in the cold late winter air.

*

Yifan didn’t tell a few important things to Lu Han.

He didn’t tell about Minseok’s promised forgiveness for him.

He didn’t tell Lu Han that he now longed for Lu Han’s forgiveness as well, but he just couldn’t say it, not yet.

He didn’t tell about his beloved’s choice of defying Lu Han’s curse in choosing its own death that one time in the winter of 1984.

And when Lu Han had asked that night before he left with Minseok after their short meeting at the café about his beloved soul’s name this time around, Yifan said he didn’t ask.

But Yifan did ask, and he was told of a name so pretty, it would make any roses shied in embarrassment.

But, alas, what would a pretty name would be use of, if its owner did not want it?

And in the cold windy night, as he walked home to, thinking about how a curse that was put on him with such hatred had become something precious and endearing to him;

Yifan waited.

 

_To your arms someday_   
_I’ll return to stay_   
_Till then I will remember too_   
_Every bright star_   
_We made wishes upon_   
_Love me always, promise always_   
_Oh, you’ll remember too_   
_I’ll remember you_

_– Elvis Presley, I’ll Remember You._

 

**End.**

 


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